Down London Road (On Dublin Street, #2)(7)

I frowned at him instead. ‘What happened to your uncle?’

At the darkening of Cam’s face, I braced myself for more insult. ‘Married a version of you. She took him for everything. He’s now divorced and in debt up to his eyeballs.’

‘So that would explain why you think it’s okay to judge me? A person you don’t even know.’

‘I don’t need to know you, sweetheart. You’re a walking cliché.’

Feeling the anger boil, I reined it in and turned it down so it simmered carefully, taking a step toward him as I laughed softly, humourlessly. As our bodies closed in on each other, I tried and failed to ignore the crackling of electricity between us. I felt my nipples harden unexpectedly and was glad for the placement of my arms over my chest so he wouldn’t see. He inhaled sharply at my closeness, his look searing, and I felt it like pressure between my legs.

Ignoring the absurd sexual attraction between us, I glowered. ‘Well, I guess that makes us a pair. I’m a brainless, morally corrupt, money-grabbing bimbo and you’re a jumped-up, pretentious, artsy-fartsy know-it-all dickhead.’ Fighting to cover the trembling coursing through me – a reaction to the adrenaline spiked by my actually standing up for myself for once – I took a step back, satisfied at the flare of surprise in his eyes. ‘See, I can judge a book by its cover too.’

Not leaving him a chance to make a smart-ass retort, I put a swing into my hips to overcome the trembling, and sashayed across the gallery and around the wall until I found my boyfriend. Becca had been monopolizing Malcolm’s time for too long. I sidled up to him, sliding my hand along his back and dangerously close to his delicious bottom. His attention was immediately wrenched from Becca as he stared into my now glittering eyes.

I licked my lips provocatively. ‘I’m bored, babe. Let’s go.’

Ignoring Becca’s huff of annoyance, Malcolm congratulated her once more on a great show, and then ushered me out of there, eager to receive the promise in my eyes.

Malcolm groaned in my ear, his hips moving against mine in staccato jerks as he finally came. The muscles in his back relaxed beneath my hands and he collapsed on me for a second as he tried to catch his breath. I tenderly kissed his neck and he pulled back, his own affection for me clear in his eyes. It was nice to see.

‘You didn’t come,’ he observed quietly.

No, I hadn’t. My brain was too switched on, thoughts of the evening, of Cam and the argument refusing to let me out of their clutches. ‘I did.’

Malcolm’s mouth twitched. ‘Sweetheart, you don’t have to fake it with me.’ He kissed me softly and pulled back, grinning. ‘I’ll get you there.’ He made to move down my body and my hands tightened on him, stopping his descent.

‘You don’t have to.’ I began to sit up and Malcolm pulled out of me fully, leaning back on his side to let me move. ‘You’ve had a long day. You should get some sleep.’

His large hand came down on my naked hip, stopping me from getting out of the bed. I glanced back at him and saw concern in his eyes. ‘Did something happen? Are you okay?’

I decided to lie. ‘When I called Cole earlier it sounded like Mum was having some trouble. I’m just worried.’

Malcolm sat up now, his brows drawn together. ‘You should have said.’

Not wanting to upset him, or our relationship, I leaned over and pressed a firm kiss to his mouth, pulling back to gaze into his eyes so he’d know I was sincere. ‘I wanted to be with you tonight.’

He liked that. He smiled at me and gave me a quick kiss. ‘Do what you’ve got to do, sweetheart.’

I nodded and threw him a smile before I hurried to clean up so I could leave. I had never once spent the night with Malcolm. I left after we had sex because I guessed that’s what he’d want. I guessed that’s what would make him happy. And since he’d never asked me to stay, I assumed I’d guessed right.

By the time I was ready to leave, Malcolm had fallen asleep. I stared at his strong, naked body flung across the bed, and I prayed that this was the relationship that was going to make it. I called a taxi and when it rang my phone twice to let me know it had arrived, I left silently, trying to ignore the disquiet that had settled over me.

Almost a year ago I’d moved my family from our large flat on Leith Walk to a smaller flat off the Walk, on London Road, technically on Lower London Road. It doubled my travel from work, meaning I had to get a bus into town most days instead of walking. It was worth it for what we saved on rent, though. My mum had rented our flat on Leith Walk when I was fourteen years old, but before long it had fallen to me to make the payments, just as it was up to me now. This new flat had been in a right sad state of affairs when we took it, but I’d actually managed to persuade our landlord to let me decorate it out of my own pocket. Something I could do on a small budget.

Less than ten minutes after I left Malcolm’s, the taxi driver dropped me off at the flat and I let myself into our building, immediately going up on my tiptoes so my heels wouldn’t make a noise. As I took the narrow, dark spiral staircase up towards our flat I didn’t even see the dank, graffiti-covered concrete stairwell anymore, I was so used to it. Our old stairwell had been like that too. You could hear everything in those spaces and since I knew how annoying it was to be woken up by drunken neighbours in their clattering heels and alcohol-soaked joviality, I took care not to make any noise as I made my way up to the third floor.